He wasn’t in. She didn’t know when he would be in. I thought she was lying. Under her hauteur she sounded scared. I tried probing a little but couldn’t get a handle on it. Finally I asked her what time he’d gone out. She hung up on me.

Chapter 20

Unloading

The Braves did clobber the Cubs. Only Keith Moreland, hitting around .345, did anything we could enjoy, knocking a ball into the hands of an eager kid around nine sitting in front of me. However, the day was sunny, if chilly, the crowd enthusiastic, and Murray and I enjoyed a few hot dogs. I let him drink the beer—I don’t like the stuff.

Mike Silchuck had taken my picture a few dozen times in front of the ticket counter. Unfortunately all my scars were in places I didn’t feel like flashing in the middle of Addison, so they had to be content with a look of noble courage. Murray asked me questions briskly during the first three innings, then spent the fourth phoning his exclusive into the Herald-Star.

In the top half of the sixth, while the Braves scored five runs, I asked Murray about Mattingly.

“He’s a small-time hood, Vic. What do you want to know about him?”

“Who killed him?”

Like Mallory, he assumed immediately that Mattingly or his wife/mother/brothers were my clients. I gave him the same story I’d told Bobby.

“Besides, even though Boom Boom hated him, he felt sorry for poor little Elsie. I know he used to slip her a few bucks to stretch the housekeeping money, which I guess Mattingly doled out with a grudging fist, since he needed it for his gambling debts.”

“Why did she stay with him?” Murray asked irritably.

“Oh, Murray, grow up. Why does anyone stay with anyone? She was a child, a baby. She couldn’t have been eighteen when he married her, and everyone she knows is in Oklahoma … Well, let’s not get into the psychology of marriage. Just tell me if there are any leads into his death.”

He shook his head. “He was out of town for three or four days. Elsie doesn’t know where he went or how he got there, and the police haven’t dug up anyone who can help. They’ll question the hockey team, of course, but as far as I can tell most of the guys felt the same way your cousin did.”

So the connection with Bledsoe was still secret. Or the connection with his airplane, at any rate. “Was he wearing size twelve Arroyo hiking boots by any chance?”

Murray looked at me strangely. “The footprint left in Boom Boom’s apartment? I don’t know—but I’ll find out.”

I turned my attention to the rest of the game. My hero, Bill Buckner, struck out. Such is life. I kind of knew the feeling.